


Tom's History With the Schofield Gang

by MarionetteFtHJM



Series: The 1917 Vintage Collection [4]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Kelly Gang fusion, Angst, BAMF Thomas Blake, Crimes & Criminals, Feral Will, First Time, Fist Fights, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mild Praise Kink, Mild emotional manipulation, Mild spoilers for the film, Period Typical Attitudes, Slice of Life, Slurs, Tom adopts the Schofield gang the AU, Violence, William Schofield is Ned Kelly, but it's fine, for the greater good, liberties taken when it comes to history, not beta'd we die like dingos, or plot, there's not much conflict in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarionetteFtHJM/pseuds/MarionetteFtHJM
Summary: Tommy has never expected much from life. He had some expectations, sure, but what had happened in reality had been so completely unexpected that he'd been left silently reeling and trying to dodge William Schofield's bare-knuckled punches.(Or: Thomas Blake meets the Schofield gang and helps around the house a bit)
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: The 1917 Vintage Collection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710985
Comments: 25
Kudos: 111





	Tom's History With the Schofield Gang

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Um. Hey. Yeah, I have no excuse for this. I'm writing a paper on the Kelly Gang book and I was thinking through how wonderfully chaotic and shitty the setting of the movie (and the book) is and how much i loved how George portrayed Ned and that it'd be rather cool to place blakefield into this AU. However, once I started writing it I realized that I'd have to do three fics (not related to one another) that are set in the same setting because there are so many parts of the movie I'd love to explore through blakefield.  
> So this is the first one where Tom's a sneaky little badass and Will being so fuckin' whipped for him!
> 
> Fair warning though, since this is set in like 1890 or something, the fact that Will-as-Ned has serious childhood trauma and issues is not discussed in depth bc thems the times i guess so Tom knows something's def wrong but he doesn't know what and while he's a learned man he can't really go about helping the other the way a professional these days would.

Tommy has never expected much from life. He works as a lowly farmhand on Erinmore’s property and keeps to himself on most days. They say he’s a solid lad – that he’s not like his brother who disappears every once in a while and people appreciate that about him. They like a good, stable worker that’s available to run errands and herd cattle at any given moment – they like the commitment he has for his work. Because he’s always there, and Joe – even though he should be the one in charge of the household – has been gone for a while now again, three years or so this time. And at this point Tom wasn’t sure he’d be coming back. He honestly thought he’d never see him again, least of all doing whatever _this_ is. But Joe’s been back for a couple of days now and he’s being doing _this_ for the majority of them, despite Tommy’s insistent urging for him to get an _actual_ job.

He watches as Joe parades around with his new mate, a tall, lanky fellow named William – _call me Will –_ Schofield. He watches as they roughhouse across the barren lands of the Schofield property and watches as Will’s eldest sister eyes them warily in turn. One of the Schofield’s youngest children tries to interject but is quickly turned away due to his insufficient bulk but mostly because Will and Joe aren’t _roughhousing_ , they’re _training._

Because, apparently, that’s what Joe does now – he trains wild cannons to fight for the amusement of wealthy Brits.

He frowns as Joe gets tossed into the dirt; their mother would be so disappointed. Then again, she already probably is – considering they’ve been carted off to Australia for their crimes and sentenced to a life of poverty and exile.

Joe taps against the ground with a chortling laugh, his auburn curls dusty and his clothes rumpled. “Alright, alright! You’ve got me pinned, I give!”

The taller of the two men chuckles lowly and then releases his impressive hold, easing up on where he’d been pushing Joe down with his knee. The blonde offers up a hand and Joseph accepts is readily, patting the bare-chested fighter on the shoulder heartily.

“You’re hardly any help anymore, Joe, you go down too easy.” Will laments with a teasing frown and Joe gasps in pretend offence.

Tommy watches the exchange, still not entirely sure he likes what his brother had gotten involved with – the Schofields aren’t the proper kind of British he’s used to associating himself with – they were Irish in blood, sons and daughters of a convicted murderer, a wrongin.

Ah, alas, far be it for him to say anything about murder these days.

He’s startled out of his musings when wild, blue eyes turn to him with a question in them. He feels his spine go rigid under the cold stare and all of his muscles tense as if his body’s preparing for an attack. 

“You think your brother’d be up for a round, aye?” Will asks, gaze never leaving Thomas even though he’s speaking with Joe. Something hot coils in the pit of his stomach and stays there.

“Tommy?” Joe frowns in his direction. “I don’t think he’s much for fist fighting and brawling. He’s better with a gun and a knife.”

He breaks the stare, looking down where the youngest Schofield is fiddling with a cloth by his feet – Mary, he believes her name is. The same blue eyes stare up at him and there’s certainly a striking resemblance there even at such a young age, she’s got the wild eyes of the Schofield bloodline that spell nothing but trouble.

“Tommy!” Joe calls and with a sigh he walks closer, leaving the little sprog behind on the ground.

“What, Joe?” He asks impatiently – the sooner they get this over with the sooner him and Joe can return to their shite little hovel they call home.

“Would you be kind enough to help our boy Will train today? Since, I’m so bloody useless and all.” Joe’s mouth stretches around a wide grin but Tom’s way past the age where a smile and a kind word from his older brother could get him to do anything.

He rolls his eyes, “No, I don’t think I _would_ be _kind enough_. I’m going home, Joe, feel free to let yourself in once you’re back.” He turns on his heel, almost tripping over little Mary before sighing and ruffling her short, blonde hair and continuing on his trek.

“He doesn’t much like me, huh?” He hears William ask and scoffs to himself _– like there’s anything there of substance to like._

And yet, despite his best efforts and self-reprimands, he spends his free time observing Joe and Will practicing fights and coming up with strategies that are more than just useless flailing or brawling. Will is quick on his feet, a wolf with teeth bared and eyes intent on the kill, his fists are large and clenched and his wrists solid and thick. He’s a gun loaded to shoot every time he readies himself for a fight.

It’s good money, apparently. And he can’t complain, the added amount of it to their budget does help the _not starving_ agenda he’s had set up for himself for a while now. But it doesn’t mean he _supports_ what the fighting _represents_.

The Brits, the ones in charge, they treat them like animals. Like entertainment, like something to be used and discarded. He doesn’t like it. It’s demeaning and degrading and all of the other fancy words Tom’s been taught in his fancy school back home. It’s giving even more power to the power-hungry maniacs. 

“Think you’re above a good tousle, then?” Will asks on one fine evening while Joe is busy showing the second eldest Schofield boy – Danny – how to quickly break someone’s arm and – _where_ exactly did Joe learn how to do that?

“Not really. Just don’t like to waste my time rolling in the dirt.” He scowls, trying to make himself more menacing than he is. He’s got the bulk of a farmhand used to heavy work but Schofield’s got a fair few centimetres of height on him and that feral glint in his eye that would make a man wonder if he was facing off against a lad or a beast.

“Ah, a _proper_ boy you are.” Schofield leers and Tom gets the sudden urge to strike out, show him exactly just _how_ proper he is with a well-placed punch despite that ever-present shine of madness.

“Hardly,” He snorts, startling a little as Mary barrels into his legs from the side, running away from Marion, the slightly older of the Schofield sprogs. He lets the littlest one hide behind his knees as Will corrals Marion and lifts her up, her small fists pounding against his chest in protest.

“Prove me wrong then.” Will grins at him, teeth as sharp as his piercing stare. “One fight and then I won’t ask again.”

It’s tempting. It’s tempting to give into the savage urge to draw blood from the irritating man. He’d love nothing more than to be able to bring the other down to his knees and stop the condescending and smug smirks. The way the other throws his shoulders, the way his eyes round and then his lids lower into a predatory stare, the way his muscles tense and coil – it’s all utterly ridiculous and _irritating_ , not worth Tommy’s time. And yet. _And yet._ Nobody ever said he’d have to play fair – the knife in his boot is a heavy weight both physically and metaphorically.

“One fight,” He decides and sees Joe spring upright in surprise at his words. “One fight and then you’ll leave me be.”

“Tommy,” Joseph hurries over, worry lining the wrinkles around his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I don’t suppose he’ll leave me alone otherwise?” He crosses his arms over his chest, letting his arms flex and feeling Schofield’s eyes on the line of his shoulders.

“Will.” Joe turns to his prodigy with a warning and a sneer on his lips. “Don’t.”

“Don’t worry, Joe, it’s just a friendly spar.” The taller slaps a hand onto Joe’s back, sending him forward a little with the motion.

Frankly, at this point he’s not certain if Joe is worried about _him_ or _Will_. Joe knows him, knows that he won’t fight someone like Will without an advantage. But Joe also knows, as well as Tom does, that there is no such thing as _going easy_ in Schofield’s books; that once he latches onto a target, there’s no letting up. Either way, one of them is going to end up bloodied or dead and Tom isn’t particularly looking forward to it.

Lanky little Danny comes to stand where they’ve gathered, eager to join the conversation - inquisitive green eyes flitting from one person to the other like he’s waiting for them to just go at it the moment Will lets Marion down. But he’s not going to do this when he has work in the morning and has to get up at the crack of dawn.

He rolls his shoulders and pats little Mary on the head again, looking down at the child – that has inexplicably latched onto him with some sort of fascination – fondly. He nudges her away a bit so that he can walk unbothered and Will tenses across from him. He rolls his eyes.

“I'm very well not doing this _now_. Unlike you lazy cunts, I have work in the morning.” He scoffs as Will’s bottom lip pops out in a pout unfit for a man his age. “I’ll be by in the evening.” And with that, he turns and leaves.

* * *

Mary starts running towards him the moment she sees him on the horizon. He’s not sure what exactly he feels at the sudden attention this child is bestowing upon him but he can’t do much about it other than accept the greeting and hoist her up to carry her back and closer to the house.

“She’s right fond of you,” Elsie, the oldest of the Schofield bunch, grins at him – a look that doesn’t cross her face very often as far as he’s noticed.

“God knows why,” He chuckles as he hands the sprog off to her sister despite the littlest one’s protests. She can’t be more than four but she’s quite strong-willed already.

“She must think you’re a proper charmer,” Will chimes in, coming from the house – already shirtless and with his shoulders tensed, ready for the fight.

Tom resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as Joe follows Will out, eager and smiling jovially as Danny attempts to tackle him. He feels irritable again, seeing Joe so at home with these people that are by no means his family. Maybe he’s just a bit miffed that Joe’s decided to spend more time here than with Tom. Maybe he’d like his fucking brother back – like Joe’s ever been his before.

He shakes the thought off; ridiculous. He doesn’t _need_ Joe by his side, hasn’t in a while now. He’s possibly just mad that Schofield’s challenging him like this – doubting him like many others have.

“Shall we get to it, then?” He meets the other’s eyes and shrugs his suspenders off, loosening his shoulders as he walks a bit away from where the kids have gathered. Briefly, he wonders where their mother, Arlene, is before he dismisses that inquiry for someone who actually cares.

“Thought you’d never ask, Tommy.” Will’s grin is so sharp that Tom swears he sees a wolf’s maw smiling at him instead. He half expects the other to start howling like one, too.

He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, wondering if Joe will come to his aid if things don’t go according to plan. Joe might have been training Will how to form a strategy during a fight and his brother himself might be good at it if he puts his heart into the fight, but Tom’s got a different style to his own fights. He fights to survive while Will fights to kill – the difference is that Tom will always fight smart while Schofield will throw himself against the wall to see if he can knock the house down. And Tom’s no ramshackle shed that will buckle under the force of a strong wind.

He has, after all, done his fair share of fighting back in England.

“You’re an interesting one, Tommy, I'm not sure what to expect.” Schofield hums at him thoughtfully and Tom fights the shudder of annoyance that wants to crawl down his spine.

“Hope you like surprises then, mate.” He eases his stance, solidifying his centre and waits to see what the other will do. Because Schofield always attacks first, always asserts himself as the superb fighter – his fights short and brutal.

Predictably, Will telegraphs his movements too much. Joe’s done a piss poor job teaching him to fight but then again, Will’s not fighting any of the educated lot that can plan three steps ahead of their opponent – the kind of fighter that Tom is.

He sees the next two movements in his mind’s eye and the moment he dodges the lunge, he doesn’t let the other get him from behind. He dances away, thinking about how best to end this fast. Will’s got the height bit on him but Tom’s pretty sure he’s got more bulk on than the other does – despite how impressive the other’s sinewy chest is.

 _Focus,_ he scolds himself.

He faces the other again and Will’s posture is tense, the coil of it familiar. Schofield lunges again and Tom side-steps the attack, planting his fist into the other’s gut firmly then following it up with a palm planted in the middle of the other’s back, causing him to stumble – scrambling for purchase against the cracked ground.

When he meets the other’s eye next, the spark in them has grown into a wildfire. Tom feels a shiver of _something_ run through his limbs, setting the tips of his fingers tingling. It’s a dangerous look – one that none of his previous opponents have ever had. Realistically, he knew that William was just a hair’s width away from snapping, that he was walking the thin line between bloodlust and sportsmanship. But, God, he didn’t think that the prospect of a good fight would bring the bloodlust out like that.

Schofield re-sets his fists like he’s reloading a rifle and Tom realizes that playing fair has never been an option.

This time, he’s the first to attack; going for another right fist in the other’s torso but Will grabs his wrist and pushes him forward, away from his body. Tom solidifies his stance and twists, whacking the other across the mug with a hefty left backhand. Will stumbles but Tom doesn’t let up. He pushes for the advantage, rights himself and jabs sharply at where the other’s kidney is. Schofield catches him across the jaw with a stray, unpredictable elbow and Tom tastes blood where his cheek’s been split on his teeth. He spits at the ground, feeling it dribble out of his mouth and onto his pristine shirt.

Then, with reckless abandon, Schofield throws himself bodily at him. They go down and he should have expected this, this is how Will gets the upper hand – with an arm around the opponent’s windpipe. He can’t let that happen.

He goes down onto his back, the breath knocked out of him, but he has enough mind to bring his knee up and bear the other’s weight on it, giving himself enough time to choke down some air by extent. The ground is hard and dry and Will gets a hand around his throat but Tom jams his elbow into the crook of it and the other tumbles down a little. Faintly, he’s aware of Joe fretting in the background because all the good cheer’s left Schofield and he’s out for pain now.

No such thing as _going easy_ or a _fair fight._

He pushes the other up by bringing his other knee to join the original one. He manages to roll the other over, grunting in pain as Will latches onto his shoulders and pulls him with. He finds himself bracketing the other’s shoulders, a dangerous situation to be in with how long the other’s reach is. He stumbles away, getting back on his feet and dodging the other’s attempt at grabbing him by the ankles. He’s expecting the following lunge because Will does have the one tactic. Joe’s done a piss poor job if this is all the other has.

He intercepts the lunge, gripping the other around the waist firmly and using the momentum the other’s got he spins them around, throwing Schofield into the dirt. Someone makes a distressed sound as a pained groan leaves Will’s throat. He doesn’t particularly care, though. He’s tired of the fight; he has better things to worry about. Erinmore’s selling some of his cows tomorrow so he’ll have to lead them upstream to town as early as dawn. His knuckle aches and the cut in his cheek stings, he can still feel the imprint of Will’s fingers against his throat – he’s never liked fighting.

He follows the other into the dirt, hooking his legs under the other’s just right to keep him from bucking up and then he reaches for the knife in his boot when it looks like Schofield is going to try and _bite_ and _claw_ at flesh until he’s free.

The flash of the knife has the other’s arms falling flat against the ground, spread-eagle and statue-still as the knife’s tip presses against the hollow of his throat. Tom sneers down at him in victory, can’t help feeling a little smug about it.

“Beautiful,” The word is breathed out in a gust and Tom’s jaw slackens in surprise.

“ _What?”_ He hisses, trying to keep the blood from rushing to his face as the other’s wild eyes calm and glaze over with something akin to _admiration_.

“The style, the strategy, the execution, you, all of it.” Will grins and this time there are no fangs, just dull, gleaming teeth of a man suddenly finding himself in front of some great miracle.

“Shut up.” He grinds out, his own teeth clenched. “I win. I’ve won; this was your one promised fight. Leave me alone.” He stumbles upright, slipping the knife back into his boot and ignoring Joe’s startled expression and the murmurs of the rest of the Schofield children.

He stalks away, ignoring the shivering of his spine or the rigidity of his muscles that are still singing from the fight, too.

“Blake!” The fool calls, the thumping of his run obvious and causing Tom to speed his own steps up. “Tom!” The idiot tries again but he ignores this, too.

Alas, he can only ignore him to a certain degree and not at all when the tall figure is in front of him with his arms on his shoulders, demanding the attention.

“Leave me be, wretch.” He smacks the other’s arms away but the man doesn’t want to move and each step Tom makes the other copies.

“Please!” Will tries to meet his eyes but he looks away doggedly.

“What do you want, Schofield?” He finally stops trying to move around the other, not willing to incite another scuffle. “Out with it!”

“Where did you – where’d you learn how to fight like that? Joe’s never said anything, he’s never even thought it!” The man is grinning again, the expression skirting the edge of maniacal.

“Joe doesn’t know what I can and cannot do.” He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “How could he? He’s gone for stretches of time and when he returns he finds something else to do in the vicinity. It’s always been like that.”

“Where, then, if not from him?” The other persists.

He knows that the chances of the other leaving him alone are slimmer now than ever. He shouldn’t have accepted, should have never shown him the cards he holds, the tricks up his sleeves. Now he’s going to get thrown in there with the rest of the Schofield lot because despite himself, Tommy found Will _interesting._ In a sort of primitive way one might study a wild animal in their natural habitat, of course.

“Lads back in school had a club. It was a good way to earn a quid when money was in demand.” He relents, dropping his arms to the side, careful of where Will’s are in case the other wants a rematch already.

“Nobody out here knows how to fight like that, that’s for certain.” The note of wonder was back in the other’s tone and it makes Tom want to squirm, unsure on his feet like he despises being. “You have to teach me!”

“I bloody well don’t _have_ to do anything, now, do I?” He spits, hating the presumption and entitlement in the other’s phrasing. He deflates, though, when Schofield drops to his knees as if in prayer. “What – what are you _doing_? Get up you daft cunt!” He looks around frantically but nobody’s near, they’ve walked far away to not be seen by the other Schofields and his brother.

“Please,” The kneeling git pleads again. “I know you don’t have to, I know it. But I’d very much like it if you’d teach us ta’ fight like that.” Will’s tone is solemn and serious, his eyes wide and piercing as ever and his large hands gripping Tom’s own fists between them. When did _that_ happen?

“Quit that!” He snatches his hands away, uncomfortable and embarrassed at the show of such submission from the other.

He doesn’t particularly want to teach the other anything. This whole fight ordeal was supposed to be a way of both proving himself above it and distancing himself from Joe’s work. It had, obviously, backfired like a rusty rifle and taken half of his face off.

“Get up,” He gives into the urge and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Get up and stop lookin’ at me like that.” He waits for the other to school his features into something normal but whatever the other does, he just sort-of looks vaguely haunted and mad. He shakes his head.

“I’ll teach you best I can, but.” He points an accusing finger in the other’s direction before the taller can open his mouth in celebration. “You get Joe to start working at Erinmore’s with me.”

“Think he’ll listen to me?” The other shifts on his feet uneasily, looking over in the direction of the house where he’d presumably left Joe.

He huffs, only slightly bitter. “Please, he follows you around like you’re a bloody marvel. Course he’ll listen.”

Will nods once, firmly. “Alright. Alright, I’ll get him to help.”

“Good, I’ll be by tomorrow.” He can’t help but flick the other’s nose in a sharp move of bent fingers, catching him by surprise. “Get out of my way, mate.” Despite his words, he doesn’t wait for the other to move from his stupor and instead walks around him, already anticipating the muscle aches that’ll find him in the morning.

* * *

The thing is, William Schofield’s not stupid and Tom knows this. He’s had a shite teacher so far – Joe’s only ever been in pub scuffles and fights with his mates back in England that never actually wanted to hurt him. The fact that Will’s won any match he’s been in is a miracle and a true testament to his bloodlust.

Schofield might be a bit slow on the uptake, slow to react, slow to dodge but he’s not _stupid_ slow. He’s no aristocrat when it comes to education but the man can read and write and he certainly loves to hear the sound of his own voice.

Tom knows that had Schofield been raised in England instead of this lawless land, he would have grown up to be quite the gentleman. But Will’s been in this dusty hellpit for all of his life – a beast born and bred to these barren lands, in prison by age ten for shooting Captain O’Neil after he’d been bought by a bushranger of the name Leslie. Tom’s only heard stories but O’Neil never did fancy the Schofields. Well, apart for Arlene, which was probably the only reason Will had chosen to shoot the Captain at such a young age in the first place.

Captain O’Neil – scummy as they get – has been hounding Arlene relentlessly ever since (and even before) the man of the house, Will’s father, had died in prison. Tom was still way of the man himself, despite receiving no such bad treatment from him but the malice in the Captain’s eyes was unmistakeable.

And really, Tom could excuse Will’s bloodlust. With a childhood like that and as crazy as his mother seemed at times – a man was certain to lose some coherence.

That, however, doesn’t mean Will had to fight like a mindless bastard with flailing fists. Well, he certainly _could_ but that’d get him broken and bent faster than he could utter _mate_

 _“_ What, then, do you want to do once you’ve learned how to fight proper?” He can’t help but ask as he eyes Will who seems very eager to fight him again.

“Earn some money, help around the house, buy something nice for Elsie. Keep us afloat.” Will shrugs, jumping up and down in place lightly.

“Why not get a proper job, then?” He crosses his arms over his chest, observing the twitch of muscle in the other’s wiry frame.

Will runs a hand through his short-shorn hair and shakes his head. “Nobody wants a Schofield on their property, innit?”

It strikes a chord in Tom. In reality, he knew this was the truth, but hearing Will – who was usually so strong and confident about everything – sound so dejected over this was disconcerting. He lets his arms drop, realizing that if he’s going to be working with Will he is going to have to get over his own misconceptions and judgemental mindsets that have been ingrained into his brain from a childhood spent in England as a wealthy youth. Joe did always say Tom was too damned stubborn for his own good.

“That’s stupid,” He grunts finally. “Fine, whatever. I’ll teach you but it doesn’t mean I have to like what you’ll do with the knowledge. Fightin’ for their entertainment, it’s not right.” He shakes his head a little to dislodge his own reservations on the topic.

“Alright, where do we begin?” Will claps his hands together cheerfully, his dour tone forgotten and replaced by bright enthusiasm.

So Tom begins teaching one William Schofield how to plan, how to dodge, how to grapple and, more importantly, how to _win._

Will, naturally, takes to it like a fish to water. He’s expected as much. If he were being honest, and Tommy tries to stay an honest man, he would even go as far as to say that he’s proud of one Will Schofield. Scho. His star pupil.

It takes a while to beat the knowledge of _dodging_ into the other’s thick skull but once he does, Will uses his lithe body and his long legs to his advantage as often as he can.

And once he gets the hang of the technicalities, William Schofield is a marvel to look at.

* * *

The first proper match Tom makes it to with Joe dragging him there by the sleeve is the third one that Will’s had in the month after the previous three of Tom’s training regime. He had gotten a day free only because Erinmore had decided that he was going to be doing the branding of the new stock with his youngest son to teach him some responsibility or whatever it was that the sprog needed to learn.

So Joe’d grabbed his hand the moment Tom was awake and coherent enough to walk and dragged him out of their house. His brother had herded him around town, trying to promote the fight to the wealthy and Tom had to stand there and watch his brother make a spectacle of himself in a way that was very undignified yet attention-grabbing. Well, at least Joe was good at this portion of his job.

The fight was happening in Madame Avery’s house, a new and shiny building that stood lager than most of the houses ‘round her property. It had big columns, three floors and a dozen or so lovely ladies inside waiting to be whisked away for the evening.

Not that Tom was looking to snag one. He didn’t even want to be there. And by the time Joe had carted him off to the fight, he’s more annoyed than he thought he would be when he woke up this fine morning.

“You did a good job, Tommy.” Joe claps him on the back. “You should see the fruits of your labour. If I’d have known you had it in you, I’d have asked for some lessons as well.”

He sneers wordlessly, like _hell_ would he have taught Joe to fight. It was as if his brother needed more incentive to get himself arrested. “Not like you were doing him any favours.”

“Which brings to question,” His brother’s eye glints in interest and Tom doesn’t like that look one bit. “Why exactly _did_ you?”

“Told you already,” He shoves the taller’s arm off his shoulders. “He’d have hounded me into the grave otherwise.”

“Nah, Tommy, Will ain’t like that.” Joe shakes his head vehemently. “Couple’a more times, the lad would have let up.”

“Yes, well, we don’t know that.” He refuses to let Joe see his own intrigue and fascination with the other, the sympathy he feels and the anger that sometimes rises up in him at the thought of Will having to do _this_ to fend for himself and his siblings.

“Heard Arlene’s coming back soon,” He murmurs conversationally as they stay out of the way of those proper folk with the fancy coats and the cravats that Tom used to wear back home in England.

“Eh, we’ll see. She might just stay over in America for good.” Joe shrugs and Tom’s indignation rises like bile in his throat.

“She’s just gone and left Will and Elsie with the kids?” He doesn’t let his eyes linger on anyone in particular – the amount of Constables and Captains in the room where the fight is happening is alarmingly high. And almost each man of import has one of Madame Avery’s girls under his arm. Some of them look barely old enough to be let out into the city back in England let alone to be _employed_ here at this house of _whatever –_ he grunts, angry again. What a lawless and decrepit land. Then again, not like England was much better, they were just more adept at hiding their proclivities.

“Tommy!” A hand, large and warm, claps him on the shoulder and he does his very best not to turn around and plant his fist into Will’s throat in surprise.

“Do that one more time and I’ll have your head.” He threatens, smacking the hand away lest he do something idiotic like go red in the face.

“Ah, what do I always tell you, Tommy? You can have any part of me you want,” A brief pause that makes Tom’s eye twitch, “You _are_ the reason why I’m still alive, after all. It’d be only fair if I gave an arm and a leg.”

“Piss off,” He grunts. “Don’t you have a bugger to fight?”

“Course I do. He’s a little taller, bearded fellow, favours his left side – think something’s fucked with his hip.” Will says thoughtfully, a calculated look crossing his face and settling the wildness there for a moment.

Tom feels that familiar swell of pride rise up again and he hums. “Get in a good right hook and you’ll be solid. Maybe take it to the floor if he starts crowding.”

“Sure enough,” Will jumps up and down, the shirt he’s wearing is loose on him and it flaps with the movement. “Think even Joe could take ‘im,” The taller ruffles Joe’s hair and Joe grins at him unabashedly.

Joseph really shouldn’t be encouraging him like this. Will’s a liability enough on his own but with Joe’s skewed perspective to back him up, he’s downright unstable. A chemical compound brewing and waiting to blow.

Tom reckons he’ll have to do something about that eventually. Mostly because he doesn’t want to get dragged into the aftermath.

“Go on, you dog, get!” Joe shoos the fighter away and Will smacks a wet kiss onto his forehead that makes Tom grimace.

“Still likes me better than you,” Joe gloats jovially, a laugh falling from his lips as easy as breathing but the words make Tom’s stomach clench unexpectedly. Something stirs behind his ribcage, something loosens and he feels it dip lower when Will shows up mostly naked and flexing every muscle available.

Will bends back, almost folding himself in half before righting himself. He puffs and huffs and expands his ribcage, flexes his arms, his legs, the muscles straining. He’s putting on a show. Because a show is what these men and women want and Will is here for their entertainment. His stomach _churns_. He knows the lot of them, the men that think themselves too important to be disrespected. School’d been full of lads like that, his hometown, too. He’s never been particularly happy about their exile to Australia but he’s always been glad to be away from the pretentious pricks he’d been forced to surround himself with daily.

Will’s right about his opponent. The man fights to draw blood but Will knows better than that now. Tom’s taught him to channel the bloodlust, to use it to his advantage. This man that’s fighting Schofield hasn’t had the same privilege.

Will fights and he’s the first to draw blood. The red splatters over the crowd and they cheer as it splashes them, warm and _disgusting._ It drips onto the white sheet on the ground from the man’s nose and Will yells to keep the crowd cheering. It’s not much a fight all things considered and surely there are more of them lined up for Will but Tom doesn’t think he’ll stick around.

The man goes down easy enough and once he’s down, Will is on him in a flurry, fist after fist and putting one last to his face to knock him out for a while – maybe for good. Tom’s petrified. The referee – and isn’t that a joke? – calls Will’s win and the crazy bastard _howls_. He howls, ribcage expanding like he’s a huffing wolf the size of a cow and Tom’s stomach drops down into his shoes.

_What has he done?_

He’s just as bad as Joe. Maybe he’s even worse.

He watches the taller approach his brother and bring their foreheads together, both of them cheering and joyful. The men who’ve bet on Will collect their winnings and Tom even spies Constable Mackenzie nodding approvingly at Schofield. No good – this attention is no good, this will only end badly.

He shrugs away the feeling of dread that settles over him for a moment and makes his way out of the house, ignoring some of the ladies that are trying to catch his eye.

“Blake!” A voice calls out to him much like it did all those months ago when he’d first agreed to do this with Will. “Tommy!”

“Piss right off, Will.” He grunts, not fully understanding his own anger nor the extent of it. Mostly, it is directed towards himself, some of it is Joe’s fault and the remainder of it is Will’s. But he doesn’t know why the majority is on _him_.

It’s possibly because he’s actively given William a loaded gun, cocked it and pointed it at the world, aided and abetted the man’s own downfall. Sometimes, the lack of foresight he has is frightening.

“Tom, Tommy!” The other’s whine does _not_ slow him down. “What’s wrong? The fight was good! I got him just like you taught me, I’d done good, right?”

The hope in the other’s voice, the need to prove himself – Tom should have been above all of it. He should have known better. Because there’s something seriously wrong with Will and he’s just signed the man’s death sentence.

“I don’t like fighting, Will, I never did.” He sighs, running a hand through his curls. “Not even when it brought money. I’d like to avoid being tied to it.”

“But,” Will’s shoulders droop like Tom had gone and kicked his goat. “But I did good, Tom.”

 _Oh, Heavens what has become of you, William Schofield?_ He wonders as the words send a chill of concern down his spine.

He thinks back to what he knows about the Schofields.

Five children, with Will as the oldest man in the house. Their father killed while imprisoned by _someone_ who’d known _something_ that had brought a great deal of shame to Will’s house. He knows that as a boy, the other had been sold to Leslie as an apprentice by his own mother but couldn’t follow through with the task of shooting Captain O’Neil when he was asked to do it by the bushranger as an initiation of sorts. Knows that Will spent several years imprisoned, alone, with only Elsie and Dan visiting him very rarely. Knows that despite it all, Will admires his Mother. That she’s his biggest motivator and his only obstacle. She keeps him grounded and he’s seen her shouting at Will until the man cowered in fear one moment and then he’d been screaming right back at her the next. Arlene was currently in America with her new gentleman, a rancher named Smith – supposedly a good man if Erinmore was to be trusted. He doesn’t think Will fancies the idea of a new father figure much and that it’s only put him on edge.

“You won the fight,” He responds simply because everything else would be _encouragement_ and he doesn’t want that. The last thing Will needs is someone feeding into this behaviour – he’ll have to threaten Joe later.

“But.” Schofield starts again and Tom turns away from him.

“Goodbye, Will.” His chest feels tight because it feels like this is the last he’ll see of the other. It feels like he’s leaving behind a mess he’s helped create unattended. He feels like a bad man, for the first time, despite the murder and the fighting, he feels like he’s truly a bad man.

“Tom,” Will’s voice trails off like he has something to say but the words don’t meet Tom’s ears as he keeps walking.

He goes to Erinmore’s despite having the day off. He helps the man teach his son how to brand cattle with the patience that the man himself doesn’t possess and the little bugger takes a shine to his teachings immediately. At least teaching Erinmore’s sprog something useful won’t result in him being offed for getting too cocky.

The next morning he finds Schofield curled up in the dirt at the bottom of the steps that lead to Tom’s house like a stray dog. Joe hadn’t come back last night but that’s not new – he probably stayed at the house with one of the girls. This, however, Will looking pathetic and shivering and covered in mud and blood, is decidedly something he’s not experienced before.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he walks down the three steps to kick Will in the ribs. He doesn’t do it particularly hard but it’s enough to make the other stir with a groan.

“What happened to not getting beat up?” He looks down at the other and meets the pale blue eyes levelly.

“Got mad, lost it.” The man murmurs honestly and Tom wishes he hadn’t made this particular bed so that he didn’t have to lie in it.

“And why, pray tell?” He looms over the other as Will rolls onto his back, looking up at him with a stormy expression.

“Nothing makes you happy.” The other states and Tom’s taken aback by the genuine words, his heart kicking up a fuss in his chest.

“Not your job to make me happy, mate.” He steps over the other and into the dirt, he has a job to do still and it won’t do him any good wasting time with the madman.

“But,” Will scrambles to follow after him. “But I want to.”

He turns around sharply, startling Will who’d gotten closer to him than he’d anticipated. The other’s shoulders are hunched inwards again, his eyes downcast, looking like a kicked dog.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not good enough,” He grunts, trying to turn away but finding himself tugged back by the other with a grip on his wrist. He pushes a palm outwards, slapping it against the other’s solid chest with a smack of warning. The short struggle ends with Will cupping his face between wide palms and Tom too spooked to try and get out of the oddly gentle hold that’s wreaking havoc inside ribcage.

“I’m lost.” Will admits, “I feel lost. When you’re not – when you’re not telling me what’s what. I’m lost and angry and there’s no direction for me and every direction calling my name.”

“I’m not your keeper, Will.” He says firmly. “I’m not a point of authority.”

“No, _no._ ” Will shakes his head, closes his troubled eyes. “I know. But I need it. There’s something in me that can’t stand staying still, that wants to hurt and tear. I don’t know what to do with it. This anger – the rage.”

Tom pauses, stops trying to pry the other’s hands from his face. He hadn’t realized that Will was aware of this, of what Tom had seen in the other from the moment they first met. He’s never thought that Will was struggling to keep it at bay. Maybe – just maybe, Tom can undo some of his mistakes.

“Stop fighting.” He demands and Will’s eyes snap open.

“But.” The other tries to protest but Tom hisses at him sharply, shutting him up.

“Stop fighting or I leave.” He grinds out through clenched teeth, watching the emotions play over the other’s face like a theatre show.

“Then what?” Will’s voice is subdued again, but calm this time instead of dour.

“Come work with me on Erinmore’s farm.” He tugs back but Will’s grip is still unrelenting, arms following and the other still too close to him.

“Alright,” Will nods slowly, hands dropping to grip both of Tom’s wrists, the touch odd but Tom allows him the comfort.

“Good, let’s get you cleaned up, then.” He ushers the other towards the pump and takes pleasure in getting rid of all the grime that Will’s collected over the past few days. The other sits on a stool patiently and lets Tom scrub and wipe until he finds him clean enough. He can’t do anything about the bruise circling the other’s eye or the cut in his lower lip though. But it’s fine, he can rub ointment into the cut on the other’s brow and across the bridge of his nose and he can ignore the look of awe in the other’s eye.

* * *

“What’s all this, then?”

Erinmore is a tall man with graying hair and a severe look on his face that only relaxes sometimes and usually around his youngest sprog or their sheepdog. He’s a man that’d spent a great deal of his life in England and then had seen an opportunity for something new over here – had gotten bored being surrounded by the British aristocracy and promptly turned tail.

“I’d like it if you’d give Will a chance, Sir. To work here, I mean.” He clears his throat. He may be confident in his abilities and speeches usually but Erinmore is still his only source of income so he has to thread lightly when it comes to his demands.

“A Schofield on my farm, huh?” Erimore eyes them critically. “What happened to Joe?”

“He’s not exactly reliable, Sir.” Tom winces as he says it but it’s not exactly untrue.

“And a Schofield is?” The man shoots back and that’s also fair.

“I’ll keep him in line, Sir.” He smiles, knowing that very few can resist what they think is his earnest grin.

Erinmore tutts and shakes his head. “Whatever, lad, make sure nothing goes missing and keep an eye on him. Same pay as I gave Joe, more if he proves better at actually doing the work.”

“Thank you, Sir.” The showy grin turns genuine as he ushers Will away from the house and towards the barns where they need to muck the stables after letting the cattle out.

“I – Tom.” Will hushes, tugging at his shirtsleeves urgently and he grunts, stopping to look at the man.

Will’s eyes are wide and watery, he’s shaking slightly and his hands are trembling. Tom startles, gripping the other’s wrist in one hand and bringing his other to check the man for fever.

“What? What is it? Are you sick?” He hates how that pillar of worry rises from its ashes when only yesterday he’d written Will off as a lost cause.

“No, ah, I. Christ.” Will laughs and the sound is wet and choked and Tom finds himself with an armful of powerful muscle quivering like a child.

“Will,” He grits out, looking around frantically to see if anyone’s spotted them. “Come now, Will, up you go.” He tries again but Will won’t budge.

“Thank you,” The other whispers into the shoulder of his white shirt and he sighs, patting the other on the back awkwardly and feeling unreasonably warm.

“Bloody hell, mate, it’s fine.” He reassures, still faintly trying to get the other to let up. “Just a job, yeah? You actually have to do the work now.”

“I – yes. Yes.” Will steels himself and pulls back, tucking the ends of his – Joe’s – shirt into his pants. “Right, work.”

He rolls his eyes and continues towards the first barn.

Hopefully, Tom’s not making a mistake. Hopefully, what Will has known for most of his life can be untaught. If he’s lucky, Tom will prevent the disaster that would have surely followed had Will continued down the path he’d set for himself.

* * *

“Hey, Tommy?” Will questions one fine day, several weeks down the line of their new agreement while they’re herding the cows out to pasture.

“Hm?” He looks up from his crouch where he was petting the shepherd dog that was slacking on the job.

“I’d never asked Joe, he always seemed ta’ avoid the topic, but...” Will trails off, a frown marring his expression that Tom doesn’t necessarily like seeing there.

“Is it about why we’re here?” He makes an educated guess and Will nods, looking a little embarrassed by his own curiosity. Tom sighs, well, he _was_ going to have to fess up eventually. Because unlike Will, he wasn’t born here.

“Me an’ Joe come from a proper British family, wealthy folk.” He throws a stick and the dog rushes after it, uncaring of the cows in his way.

“It was easy living, nothing like you’d see out here. But then father died and mother was left struggling. I was in college at the time, starting my first year. She was faring worse by the week and eventually had to sell our property and move to a smaller house just to keep food on her table. Joe was missing for those couple of months so he wasn’t of any help.” He shudders as Will comes to stand beside him, pressing them together shoulder to shoulder.

“After a year of struggling, she got remarried. Some Lord or something, the man was pretty important.” He huffs, blowing a gust of air out of his nose as he remembers. “And me an’ Joe, we love our ma’, don’t get us wrong. But she’s too dependent on the lavish life of the rich. And this man was very well off. Had a giant estate and everything. He was besotted with her, obsessed even. But he didn’t fancy me an’ Joe much.”

“You don’t have to, Tommy.” Will manoeuvres him until he’s plastered himself to Tom’s back, his chin hooked against the top of his head.

He figures that struggling would be futile so he remains there and opts to seethe in embarrassment silently. “Bout two years into the marriage Joe and I wound up back at the estate together for Christmas. Mom was ecstatic, she’s barely seen us, it’s looking to be a good holiday. But his Lordliness wants us off his property. He’d found out about my fighting for money and Joe’s gambling and whatever else he’d been doing at the time and it was the perfect opportunity to turn mother against us. Pah, as if. She loves us to much for that, you see. But Lord Coleridge wasn’t having any of that, he loved her too much to share that love with anyone else – not even her sons.” He clenches his fist as he remembers the familiar anger that he’d long since banished from his own mind. He breathes out steadily, allowing himself to lean back against Will for support.

“He tried to have us killed. But when that proved too hard, he tried to go after us himself. He’d gotten Joe drunk enough to get him alone but I’d known something was wrong. That this peace treaty he was offering was nothing more than a ruse.” He watches as the dog runs between the cows, yapping his little heart out with cheer.

“Followed them to a drawing room. Found him with his hands around Joe’s throat and his fuckin’ cock out, the cunt. Took the nearest, sharpest object – a fancy little letter opener, and stabbed him in the neck. He bled out while Joe and I watched.” He feels the anger lessen as Will hums against his back, feels the sound rumble through him.

“Joe was furious, of course. We’d trashed the place, ripped as many rooms at the manor apart as we could. Strung his dead corpse against the gates for all to see.” He turns around and steps back to look Will in the eye. “Mother was livid, didn’t believe us. No witnesses, it was a short trial and then we were sent here.” He observes the other’s face, looking for any signs of disgust but not finding any.

“I’m not sorry. The bastard had it coming.” He says slowly, still trying to see if he can make Will wince away from him. “You may have been on the cusp of it, Scho, but I’d gone and killed a man. There’s nothing false about my accusations.”

There’s a moment of silence before Will speaks. “That kind of love for another, I can understand it. It’s not rational and it’s not good, but it’s what a man feels sometimes. Though, your actions were definitely justified as well.”

“Bastard could have asked us to leave, couldn’t he? The disgusting twat, hope he’s rotting in hell.” He spits to the side for good measure.

“He went too far and got what was coming to him,” Will confirms without pause and Tom squints up at him.

“No qualms about letting a murderer in your midst, then?” He grins up at Will and watches as the corners of the man’s eyes crinkle when he returns the gesture without fail.

“That just shows me you’re loyal to a fault, Tommy. And that I should stay on your good side if possible,” Will winks, nudging him with a light kick to the shin.

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Family drama is never worth losing sleep over, remember that.” He says nonsensically to avoid thinking about how much it pleases him that Will hadn’t recoiled in disgust at the story.

“I’ll try.” Will reassures and Tom thinks, for the briefest moment, that maybe he’ll fit in here with Will, in this wild land better than he has ever fit in anywhere back home.

* * *

Arlene Schofield returns to Australia with her new husband John Smith two years and six months after Tom had gotten Will a job at Erinmore’s.

She takes a look at the house that Tom had helped Will fix up, at Elsie who wears nice clothes now, at Marion who’s reading a book on a bench, at Will who is brushing the mane of their new white horse and at Mary who’s propped up on Tom’s hip while he talks to Joe about the next batch of cherries that needs to be picked and – and immediately singles out Tom as the source of all of her problems.

“Who are you?” She’s a mighty woman, he can see that. Her hair is fiery and her eyes are green, she’s about his height and her fists are clenched at her sides but he is not scared of flames about to be extinguished. They’ve met before but Tom hadn’t been a threat back then so she’d written him off entirely.

“Thomas Blake, how can I help you?” He says levelly and Mary hides in the crook of his neck as the woman tries to step closer to them. The man, her husband, stays put in the background – a smart man.

Will, however, senses something amiss and Tom sees the moment the other goes rigid with anger. Tom watches, somewhat fondly, as Will marches over to them but he hold out a hand to stop the taller from stepping in front of him to try and confront his lady mother.

“What’s happened to this place?” She demands, trying to gauge the reactions from everyone present. The only absentee is Danny, who’d in a fit of rebellion run away last week to live with his girl and his best mate. He’ll be back, Tom doesn’t doubt it.

“We fixed it up right proper, didn’t we, Scho?” He bats his eyelashes in a way that he knows will make Scho agree to anything.

“Yes, we did.” Will seems to find his anchor in his voice again and comes to stand behind Tom – a reassuring presence as he fiddles with Mary’s loose curls, causing a giggle to erupt from her.

“Elsie,” Arlene seeks the eldest daughter’s voice but Elsie just smiles faintly, knowing well that she’s on Tom’s side as much as every other Schofield child – even Danny, is.

“You can’t be serious,” Arlene grinds out menacingly and Tom feels Will bristle. “Are you living here, then? You’ve taken in strays, Will?”

“Of course not,” Tom shakes his head. “Me an’ Joe have a nice little house just out of town. Sometimes we drop by to help out.” He decides that mediating the situation would be the best course of action. He doesn’t mention that him and Joe spend most of their evenings with the Schofield’s or vice-versa. That they cook together and laugh together as Joe sings them songs and plays his guitar. Doesn’t mention the fact that he’s raised Mary and Marion by Elsie’s and Will’s side just as much as Joe has.

Two years and six months is a long time down here in the world’s hellpit.

“How can you afford this? You better not have taken money from anyone!” Arlene hisses with vitriol at Will and Elsie and Tom reaches back to grip Will’s wrist before the other does something stupid.

“I have a job, mother.” Will says, voice forced into a calm cadence despite the tension in his frame. “Elsie does, too. She’s working in Erinmore’s kitchen and I work at the farm with Tommy.”

“I’m engaged,” Elsie says demurely, a shy smile on her face. “Erinmore’s oldest, a proper gentleman named Arthur.” She comes closer to them as well, her light blue dress swishing gently. “Tom helped me an’ Will get jobs there a while ago. We were able to fix up the house and invest in some goats. We make cheese now, it’s good.” She waves vaguely in the direction of the shed that’s their centre of operations.

“This all comes back to you, doesn’t it, Blake?” She rounds on him again and Mary squirms in his hold.

He hands her over to Elsie carefully before he turns to the wretch in front of him with arms crossed over his chest and his head held high. “And what of it? Was I supposed to leave them in squalor to fend for themselves when I could have obviously helped – _have_ helped them?” He waits for her interjection but she seems to have been struck silent. “I nudged where I could but Will and Elsie and even Danny did what they needed to and got themselves sorted out. A little sane directive was needed above all. A word of praise and a kind hand go a long way.”

“I left them to _help_ them,” She spits out, her entire compact frame shaking with rage in a way that Tom’s very familiar with. For a moment he’s afraid that he’s going to get smacked.

“Yes, well. I suppose I just did it quicker, then?” It’s a dangerous game he’s playing here but he’d like to think that he’s earned the loyalty of the Schofields over the years.

“William.” Her eyes turn sad and pleading, a cheap trick Tom’s not above using himself if the time is right. But while he uses it to calm Will down when he’s bursting out of his skin, she’s using it to try and get him to _mutiny._

 _“_ Ma’.”

Tom turns to the side, meets Joe’s amused eyes and then offers a brief nod of greeting to this man Smith who’s equally as amused by the display. He drops his hands to his hips and completes his turn, not stopping until he’s meeting Will’s eyes. He smiles brilliantly and somehow, even after all these years, it makes Will grin in return without question. Will’s a simple man with simple wants and if his want is and has been for the longest time now to make Tom happy, then Tom will try and do his best to show Will that he can be happy on occasion. Because, unbeknown to the Tom of almost four years ago, he’d stumbled into the Schofield gang with the right kind of heart and confidence that the family who’d been falling apart had desperately needed. It was, after all, why the youngest children had latched onto him with such fierceness and why Will and Elsie sought out his directive so often.

Tom had been at the right place at the right time to save these fools and had grown attached in the process.

“Will!” Arlene tries again but it’s of no use, Will knows whose side he belongs at.

“I think you should leave, Arlene.” Will’s eyes turn serious again. “We appreciate your thoughtfulness and your tact but your help is no longer needed. I hope you have found what you were looking for in America.”

The way he speaks seems to set Arlene _ablaze_.

Because Will is very good at mimicking. He’s good at learning and he’s learned by copying Tom, by asking about words and sentences and syntax and all of the boring stuff Tom hated learning in school. He only does this when they’re bartering at the market or when Constable Mackenzie and Captain O’Neil are giving him shit – and apparently now, when his mother is trying to coax him into getting rid of Tom all indignant-like.

“This is all your fault!” She points a finger in his face and Will’s got her by the wrist before Tom can even comprehend what’s happening. She yelps sharply as her arm is wrenched back and away from Tom.

“Leave it, Will.” He says faintly, watching in amusement as Will drops her arm immediately.

Her eyes are teary but Will is a mountain unmoved. She sniffles and casts her gaze around her lost children and then looks back at Tom.

“Cursed fuckin’ blood, boy, remember that.” She spits and then stomps away to where John is waiting for her by their horses.

A familiar sight – Will huddling close to him, asking for a hug, for reassurance that he’d done well despite being unsure of his actions. Tom smiles, running a hand up and down the other’s back where the red shirt he’s wearing stretches over his spine.

“You did good, Will. Thank you.” He hushes, gathering the other against him firmly and accepting Mary when Elsie passes her back to him.

“I didn’t expect her to come back.” Will mumbles into his shoulder.

“None of us did,” Elsie sighs, hands on her hips. “It doesn’t matter. There’s not much she can do.”

“Danny will be mad we made her leave,” Marion trots over to them, wedging herself into the hug that’s quickly becoming a group hug.

“I’ll talk to Danny when he comes around.” He reassures the second youngest – he’d cut her hair yesterday because she said she wanted it like Will’s and he didn’t have the heart to impose any other style on her.

“Should I go check on him?” Joe speaks up finally, looking slightly worried but fond none the less.

“Go; make sure he’s not doing anything moronic. He’s right prone to it, ‘in he.” Will takes a deep breath and nods to Joe who salutes him and starts the trek to town.

“Alright then, Scho?” He asks, one hand holding Mary – who’s really too old now to be carried around like a toddler – on his hip and the other cupping Will’s chin to make sure that the eye contact remains a steady point of focus for the other.

“Yes, thank you.” Will nods, his frame relaxing and his shoulders bouncing with a chuckle.

“Go on then, wash your damn horse, mate.” He pats the other’s cheek and Will grins at him, mouth wide and full of sharp teeth. Not really, not actually. But Tom still fancies Will as something of a wild beast that he’d managed to tame.

“I never know how you do that.” Elsie shakes her head. She’s possibly the only one who doesn’t have the maniacal glint in her eye that he’s recognized in the other children.

“All these years and I still don’t know.” She sighs, patting him on the back like she’s the older sister he’s never had.

“He’s not a bad man, El.” He smiles faintly, trying to hide all that he feels at the notion and thought of _him_ being the only one able to calm William. “He just needed a goal that wasn’t going to lead him into an untimely death.”

“That used to be fighting for him.” Elsie smirks at him, something conspiratorial in her eyes. “Not since you started training him, though. I suppose now his goals are you and writing.”

“He’s good at it.” He ignores the bit about _him_ being Will’s goal. “The poetry needs some rephrasing but he’s got a good head for fantasy.” He’s read some of Will’s scribbles and drafts and with some proper work, the other could definitely achieve something – if not a novel then maybe a novella at least. Tom would help, he always would.

“He always was a bit of a dreamer.” Elsie confirms with a fond smile as they watch Will braid the horse’s hair with tender care. “Thank you, Tom, truly. Seeing her back here just made me realize how bad she was for him, for all of us. She’s always resented us a bit, I reckon.”

“I’m sure she loves the lot of you; you’re her flesh and blood, in the end.” He amends even though he doesn’t necessarily believe his own words.

“Sure enough, as long as we’re useful, we get to feel that love.” Elsie snorts and shakes her head with a laugh. “I’m going to see Arthur, Marion would you like to come with me?”

“Yes, m’am!” Marion perks up, releasing Tom and trotting over to Elsie. She’s taken a shine Erinmore’s youngest son and she likes chasing the shy boy around the property when she can – it’s rather cute.

“Don’t chase him into the pigsty again, Marion!” He warns and she sticks her tongue out at him with a giggle.

“Cheeky little devil,” He shakes his head fondly.

Sometimes it is difficult to believe that this is his life. That Tom had undertaken such a ridiculous task. His mother would be appalled if she knew that he was practically parenting children that were not his own. Two years and six months down the line of this particular endeavour, though, Tom wouldn’t trade it for the world.

* * *

“He did _what?_ ” Tom hisses, cutting his eyes across the table to where Danny was huffily nursing a black eye and a bruised pride.

Things had gone down the shitter very quickly once Danny had realized his mother was back in town. Lanky little Danny with his hair long and brown and his eyes green like his mother’s was the black sheep of the faimly when it came to looks. He’d never particularly liked Tom or Joe either. It was fine when he was younger and still hadn’t realized what was wrong with the world they lived in but now, at the age of sixteen and with a rebellious streak a mile long, he was a menace.

“Him and his no-good friends broke into Madame Avery’s house and stole some of their dresses and the horses out back.” Constable Mackenzie repeats slowly like Tom’s question wasn’t rhetorical.

“Who roughed ‘im up, then?” Will growls, back rigid where he’s standing at Tom’s side.

“They ran into O’Neil, who was rightfully suspicious, on their way here. There was a fight. One of Dan’s friends killed the Captain.” Mackenzie recites like he’s bored, his scarred eye twitching and his healthy one straying to poor Elsie who’s huddling in the corner behind Will.

“I didn’t start the fuckin’ fight!” Danny slams his palms against the table and the cups on it rattle.

“No, you might not have. You were still involved, you still stole.” Constable Mackenzie hums idly. “Now, if there was only some way of making those charges go away.”

Tom bristles, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest, ready to hold Will back because whatever happens next isn’t going to please the man in any sort of sense.

“Well, I don’t suppose there is.” Tom keeps his voice calm because he can see that it grates on Mackenzie’s nerves.

“Oh, no, not for you Blake. You’ve nothing to do with this.” The Constable grins brightly, one of his teeth missing. “As for you Schofield lot, however. I might be able to talk to the new Captain – an honest man, Hepburn is, I’m sure he’d understand the wiles of youth – about your situation.”

“And in return?” Will’s voice is like ice, washing down Tom’s spine in an uncomfortable way. The night it still young and relatively warm but he feels like he’s reliving a winter back in England just from that tone.

“In return I’d ask for young Elsie’s hand in marriage.” Mackenzie spreads his arms out like he’s just presented them with a grand prize of some sort.

“She’s engaged to the Erinmore lad, Arthur.” Tom grinds out and Mackenzie shoots him another glare.

“Well, engagements can be broken, can they not? What’s a banker to a reputable Constable, hm?” The man gloats like it’s the best day of his life and Tom wishes, for the first time in a while, that Will would just lunge forward and rip the man’s throat out with his teeth.

But, repercussion and consequences and all that.

“No,” Will says, plain and simple.

“No,” Tom repeats, looking down at Danny who looks wild-eyed and betrayed. But it’s not the same Schofield madness he’s used to. This is an anger he can’t redirect. This anger is towards him and the world at large. In many ways Will and Danny are similar but in many more they are far too different. For one, Arlene had had a different impact on Danny since she’d been there for most of his childhood years while Will had been locked away and then on the road for his. Arlene’s claws were too deep inside Danny’s mind for Tom to help him.

“Alright then,” Mackenzie grimaces, expression souring. “He’s getting locked up for theft and assault.”

“You can’t do this!” Danny cries out as the Constable moves towards the door. “Will! Will you can’t let them take me. Ma’ won’t let them!”

“Then she can fight to keep you free.” Will growls out. “She can come make excuses and plead with the Captain if she wishes but I won’t stand for this.”

“This is your fault!” Danny rounds on him, fists swinging and Tom steps back and out of his range as Will grabs the boy and hauls him out of the house.

“Are you alright?” He turns to Elsie, ignoring Danny’s indignant screeching.

“Yes, I – thank you. Oh, Christ, I hate this. I hate what she did to him.” Elsie says through tears, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth and muffling her words slightly.

“If there was another way...” He trails off, pressing a comforting hand to her shoulder as she shakes. Mary and Marion are silent by her side, both of them young but understanding that something is very wrong.

“Is this going to be like when they took Will away?” Marion tilts her head towards the open door where Will has wrestled Danny to the ground.

“I don’t know, darling, I really don’t.” He sighs and presses a kiss to the top of her head. He grabs a pair of scissors from the cupboard behind Elsie.

He walks out of the house, grabbing a chair as he goes and shutting the door on his way. The moon is almost full and the skies are clear, the surrounding area is eerily blue and visible.

“Set him on the chair.” He instructs as he puts the chair down some ways away from the house.

He watches as Will wrestles Danny onto the chair and holds his arms behind his back, restraining them with a leather belt. He watches the youth trash frantically like a caged beast, ready to chew its own foot off to escape the trap.

Will comes around then and gets into Danny’s face. “Why the fucking dresses, Dan?! Why the dresses? Are you s-sick? Are you like _him?_ Are you like that no-good bastard, do you go prancing through crop fields in them, too?!”

Tom steps back in surprise. _What_?

“No! No, Will, I swear it!” Danny cries out, his trashing stopping abruptly. “No, It’s not – it’s not like that!”

“Then what?!” Will barks out, loud in the silent night.

“They make men scared.” Danny whimpers. “Seeing a man in a dress, it scares the shit outta them lot. Think us crazy! Gives us time to do the stealing and get away. No sane man would wear a dress and no sane man would confront a crazy bugger in one.”

“Will,” He calls gently and the taller turns around, startled, almost as if he’d forgotten Tom was there.

“Tommy,” Will’s eyes are concerned, he looks ashamed and desperate for something – Tom doesn’t know what, he never really knows what Will wants.

“Please, please don’t let them lock me up.” Danny pleads uselessly now that Tom has Will’s attention again.

“What did I always say, Dan? Repercussions and consequences. We tried so hard to make you see, Danny. But – well, I suppose we’re not the firm hand of the law, huh?” He tutts, motioning to Will with the scissors. “Hold him steady.”

“What – what are you doing?” Danny hisses as Will places large hands onto his shoulders to hold him down.

“Cutting your hair. Either I do it here or they do it in the cell and they certainly won’t be as gentle as me.” He points to the side of Will’s head where there’s a sleek scar nicked into flesh above his ear. The words seem to calm the youth down and Tom approaches. He starts slow, shortening the length as much as possible before evening it out all around. Faintly, he’s aware that Danny is crying silent tears but there’s nothing he can do to soothe the other’s worries. Nothing he can say that wouldn’t be a lie.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispers once Tom’s done making his hair look at least somewhat decent under the bright light of the moon.

“Should have thought of that a little earlier, love.” Tom sighs, pressing a kiss to the other’s forehead. “We’ll come see you when we can, I promise.”

Danny looks up at him with wide eyes and then turns his gaze towards Will who nods in confirmation. Seemingly reassured, Danny nods as well, a little calmer now than before.

“I’ll talk to Hepburn when they come in the morning, see what we can do. I’m not promising anything, though.” He rubs the other’s head as Will unties his arms. The wind’s picking up and Tom hates storms enough that it makes him shiver just thinking about one. “Go on now, get some rest.”

They watch as Danny sulks back into the house just as the first drops of rain start falling heavily onto the dusty ground. He looks up and winces as the moon gets obscured by clouds before his very eyes. Lightning and thunder and Will’s wild, shaking frame next to him. Tom hates storms.

“Come on,” He tugs at Will’s hand and leads him out behind the little barn they’d fashioned for the goats a while back.

Will has many of his _issues_ under control now. The temper, the bloodlust, the thoughtlessness – those are all the things Tom’s taught him how to manage. The incessant need to scream bloody murder at the thundering sky is decidedly _not_ one of them. He doesn’t know what it is and briefly he wonders if this is the curse Arlene’s mentioned but the moment the sky opens up in a wild Storm Will starts trashing like he’s being electrocuted. Tom’s watched this happen before and the first time it did he’d almost stabbed the other to get him to snap out of it. The lights in the sky flash, bathing the area in white and Tom, wet to the skin, sees Will open up his maw to howl at the sky. There was no use in trying to get his attention when this happens, there’s no use in trying to appeal to the other’s humanity. No, because when he’s like this, there is only the sky the storm and Will himself in the world and none of those things Tom can influence directly.

In the morning, Will is going to be exhausted and Joe will know to pick up his work on Erinmore’s farm for the day and Tom will have Marion feed him soup and press a cold rag to his forehead until his temperature lowers. But for now, he can only watch both the storm and Will rage through the night until one of them breaks.

* * *

The knocking on the door is something they’ve all been dreading. Tom stands to open it and the police Captain eyes him warily.

“You William Schofield?” The man says gruffly and Tom shakes his head.

“Thomas Blake, Sir. Will is sick at the moment and Elsie, the oldest, had to go to work. I’ve been tasked with overseeing Danny until you come and pick him up.” He explains, waving the man into the house as he leaves his Constables outside. “Would you like a drink, Sir?” He offers politely, glancing at Danny and motioning for him to go get the rum.

“Er, yes, alright.” Hepburn looks utterly confused – he must be out of town, someone relegated to their shitty part of Australia from a bigger place.

“Something wrong, Sir?” He tilts his head to the side innocently as he pushes the cup of rum that Danny had poured towards the man.

“Well, with the stories I’ve heard I just expected the lot of them to be...” Hepburn waves a hand and Tom frowns at him.

“I assure you sir, whatever you’ve heard are rumours only.” He declares, huffing when Mary barrels into his legs demanding to be picked up. He obliges and she pouts at the Captain with her best puppy eyes. Tom can see the moment the man’s heart melts at her expression; the cheeky little bugger knows exactly what she’s doing.

“And who’s this?” The Captain croons, sweet and genuine.

“This is little Mary,” He nudges her further up his hip. “Marion is in the bedroom keeping an eye on Will. And this is, well, this is Danny.” He motions to the youth who’d done a remarkably good job at making himself as unsightly and as frightened as possible.

“Oh, um, right.” The man clears his throat. “Theft and assault charges.”

“Yessir,” Danny mumbles, looking ashamed even though Tom knows he’s only got half the shame he’s displaying in him actually.

“What’s come over you, lad?” Hepburn sighs, “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ah, Sir.” Danny shies away from the man’s imploring gaze and Tom intervenes, tickling Mary and causing her to giggle. Hepburn brightens at the sound immediately and Tom breathes out.

“There’s a girl, Sir.” Tom starts slowly, _mournfully_. “He’s besotted. But he’s not particularly wealthy, you see, Sir. And she’s a fine lass, indeed, comes from a good family. Danny was – well, he’s young. The dresses were for her. He’d had the idea to ride to her on a white horse with a handful of fancy fabrics and win her over.” He feels Danny bristle next to him slightly but he steps on the youth’s foot lightly as he sways Mary in his arms to keep him silent.

“Ah, the sins of youth.” Hepburn chuckles, a good-natured laugh of an honest man.

Tom feels bad for lying to him for the briefest of moments.

“My boy was like that. Spent a lot of my money on his lady before she’d even looked his way. Proper pampered ladies will do your head in, lad. I should know, I married one myself.” The man winks and Tom laughs at the awkward joke, trying to keep the grimace off his face.

“Well,” The man stands up and downs his rum. “Considering that the dresses and horses were returned and you had no part in actually killing Captain O’Neil, I don’t think you’re looking at much time. A couple of months at the most. I’ll see what I can do for you.” The man goes to the door and smiles again at Tom and Mary.

“I’ll let yous lot have a moment. Send him out when he’s done.” The Captain waves and closes the door behind himself.

“Tom,” Danny chokes out, his eyes fever bright with wonder.

“Yes, yes. I know.” He smiles as the other rushes to hug him, even at sixteen the youth is taller than him by half a head so it takes some adjusting but Danny folds into him much like Will does. “Behave,” He warns and Danny nods against his shoulder quickly.

“Thank you, _thank you.”_ The other steels himself and steps back, a serious look on his face. “I see now why Will’d lay down his life fer you, Tommy.”

“Hardly,” He scoffs, reaching up to wipe the tear from the other’s cheek. “No crying. You’ll be out before you know it. Come on, be good for us.”

He follows the other to the door and watches from the top of the steps as Hepburn waves off the shackles that the Constables had prepared for him. Hepburn even hoists Danny onto the horse behind him when they’d usually make the prisoners walk. He smiles faintly and hopes that Danny thinks about what he’s done.

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” Constable Mackenzie sneers from the side where Tom had been steadily ignoring him.

He turns to face the man, settling his face into a bored expression. “I’ve been hearing that a lot these last few days. I’m beginning to think that you lot might be right.”

Mackenzie spits on the ground and mounts his horse, gallops away in an angry fit of petulance that’s entirely unbecoming of a man his age.

With the heavy burden of that exchange lifted from his shoulders, he goes back into the house to check on Will and Marion.

* * *

Sometimes he walks out of the house in the morning to find Will curled up at the bottom of the steps, sleeping in the dirt.

Ever since that first time, ever since they’d struck their deal, Will repeats the action on mornings where the night before had given him nightmares or he’d had a fight with one of his siblings. Tom usually wakes him up with a gentle nudge, asks him if he wants to talk about it and when Will denies the offer, he takes him to the pump and wipes him down with fresh water.

So much like on all the other occasions, he takes the time to check the other for any injuries with his eyes first before waking him with a nudge. It’s their day off, Erinmore always takes one day of the week to teach his son about the farm and do some chores with him. He’s sure that as the man grows older this will cease but for now, him and Will get to enjoy a day of the week where they don’t have to do anything.

Will grumbles and blinks his eyes awake slowly, he looks disoriented and he’s frowning heavily and Tom wonder’s who’d angered him this time.

“Y’alright, Scho?” He asks gently, stepping over the other’s curled form and crouching down to meet his eye.

“Tom,” Will croaks out, scrambling to his knees and practically tackling him into the dirt.

“Christ, Will!” He exclaims in surprise as the other’s arms wind around his middle firmly. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He shushes the other gently, carding his fingers through the other’s short hair.

“Went over to Avery’s to apologize for Danny an’ his friends,” Will huffs silently, rubbing his nose against Tom’s neck and Tom swallows heavily.

“Why’d you – _Will_.” He’s exasperated and the gesture was sweet, obviously, but something had definitely gone wrong if Will is here now.

“Constable Mackenzie was there,” Will hisses the man’s name out angrily. “He kept yappin, wouldn’t close ‘is fuckin’ mouth. Said all sorts of nasty shite about you, Tommy.”

“Scho, he can keep talkin’ outta his arse all he wants. He’s pissed that I’d gotten Hepburn to take a likin’ to Danny. He’s mad his petty little plan had fallen through.” He snorts, letting Will relax against him fully as the other rants in anger.

“It’s not right, Tom. It’s not right that he can keep sayin’ things like that about you while I have to keep tongue-tied.” Will grunts angrily and Tom feels fingers spasming against where they’re clutching at his shirt. “I wish I could have ripped his tongue out. Would have torn him to bits if I could.” The man begins to tremble against him and Tom shushes him. “If I didn’t think you’d up and leave me for it, I’d’ve done it, too.”

“You’ve learned to hold back well,” He chuckles weakly for the lack of anything else to add. “Lord knows why that’s incentive for you but I’m glad it keeps you in line, mate.”

Will reels back a little, blinking at him in confusion. “What d’you mean you don’t know?”

“Christ, Will. You’re a mystery.” He smiles patting the other’s cheek affectionately. “I could spend a lifetime with you and never know what’s going on inside that bright head of yours.” He sighs and looks to the side, avoiding the other’s intent gaze. “As for Mackenzie, let him slander all he wants, it’s no skin off my nose.”

“Come with me,” Will stands up suddenly, pulling him up and almost lifting him off the ground with his own sheer strength. Tom doesn’t yelp in surprise but it’s a near thing.

“Scho, what?” He huffs as Will leads them back into the house. “No, you’re all dusty! Bath first!” He demands but Will keeps tugging him up the three steps and through the door and then grabs him around the waist and hoists him into the house when Tom tries to drag him back out to the pump. Will only stops to set him down when they’re in the kitchen area.

As opposed to the patchwork wooden home of the Schofields, Tom and Joe had been gifted a brick house. It has three rooms and solid windows, a proper terracotta roof on it, too. It was a parting gift from their mother, an indicator that even if they are ever to get released from their sentence, they wouldn’t be welcome back in England. And this house is where he was now, with Will standing – _looming_ – over him, something feral in his eyes as they searched Tom’s face for a clue.

“Didn’t I say you’re dusty, why are you just standing there?” He groans, frustrated at how little Will makes sense sometimes. He’s learned to accept him, sure, but that doesn’t mean that Will doesn’t puzzle him all the time. In many aspects Will is a simple man with simple needs but the inner workings of his mind will forever elude Tom. While he telegraphs emotion through his body, Will guards his thoughts carefully and Tom only ever gets glimpses of them in his writing or while in conversation during late nights and drunken bouts of laughter.

“What’s this about, Will?” He finally relents when it seems like the other wasn’t going to budge.

“You really don’t know.” The other breathes out, seemingly in disbelief.

“Well, despite my best efforts, I cannot see inside your head, Scho.” He’s disturbingly close to stomping his foot against the wooden floorboard of the kitchen.

“Have you never wondered – have you never asked yourself – why I do the things that I do?” Will pushes forward, crowding into his space but by now, Tom is used to it so he allows the other to approach. But Will doesn’t stop there, he keeps nudging and pushing until Tom’s arse meets the edge of the table.

“Will,” He warns lightly, more annoyed than angry.

“Do you remember – after the first time – the first fight, what I said.” Will’s chest expands on an inhale and Tom wrinkles his nose as he takes in the dust lining the white cloth. As if on instinct, he brings a hand up to try and wipe away the majority of it. But Will catches his hand and holds it there, pressing into the red dirt hard enough that Tom feels the thundering of his heart.

“I – you asked me to teach you?” He’s beyond confused at this point and it’s definitely disconcerting. Sure, Will is a physical being, always needing a reassuring pat on the back or a hug and a cuddle as well as a word of praise, but Tom had never given this much thought before. Had always chalked it up to the other being a tad touch-starved – really, he secretly loved indulging the other, if he were being honest. But right now, the closeness was setting his insides on fire with a feeling that was decidedly not friendly in nature.

“No – no, Tommy, not that.” Will smiles but it’s not the sharp sort of grin that Tom is used to – it’s softer, much softer than anything else. It’s a grin usually directed at him when he’s got Mary on his hip or when he’s guiding Marion through reading a particularly difficult sentence. A type of smile that he catches glimpses of when he’s helping Elsie hang up the laundry or cursing at Joe for gambling when he should be working. It’s entirely too _fond_ , entirely too _besotted_. Huh.

“No, before that.” Will continues, leaning slightly down and closer to his face. “I called you beautiful. You had a knife to my throat and I thought you were the most wondrous thing I ever seen.”

“ _Will_ ,” Heart in his throat, his gut clenched, and yet he can’t look away from the other’s eyes.

“I know you and your quirks an’ thinkin’ I’m a feral bastard. And you’re right, for the most part. But that’s why – because you know – that’s why it’s so easy to follow your lead. You know me and I know you.” Will’s nose makes contact with Tom’s cheek and he sucks in a quick breath. “Mackenzie was – he kept saying all of these _things_ and I kept thinking how they’re not true but what I hated the most was just _that,_ that they’re _not true_.”

“Christ, Will, what are you saying?” He’s afraid – he’s terrified of moving, terrified of what the other’s implying, of what _this_ could be.

“Tommy,” Will purrs, “I’ll forever be at your side no matter what, but if you break my heart, I don’t know how I’ll recover.”

“Fuck, Will, out with it.” He slams his eyes closed as Will’s hands grip his waist.

“I’ll leave you alone, I swear it, but if there’s any possibility that-” The taller swallows heavily. “Mackenzie might have been spewing filth but he’d raised some very interesting points that’d dug deep in me. And I couldn’t help thinking that maybe he was right. But that it didn’t mean what he thought it meant. Because he’d never know what it would mean to _me_ if he were to be right in some of his accusations.”

Tom knows he’s trembling at this point. He knows that whatever comes out of Will’s mouth next will change how they are forever. But – but, he can’t help and anticipate the words. For better or for worse, he wants to hear the other say what’s been burrowing under Tom’s skin for so long now.

“Tom,” Will sighs gently, the air ruffling the loose curls parted over Tom’s forehead, “I’d kill for you, I’d die for you, and I need to know if you’d do the same.”

His eyes blink open in surprise, his entire frame solidifying and freezing at the words. He gulps, sucks in another breath because he’d apparently forgotten how to breathe. This wasn’t what he was expecting. This wasn’t something he wanted – not by a long shot. He didn’t want Will to commit crimes for him, he didn’t want him to die either.

“What’s brought this on, Will?” He brings a shaky hand up, placing it on the other’s cheek.

“I’m going to kill Mackenzie.” Will’s voice is so eerily calm that Tom can only barely suppress the shudder threatening to overtake him.

“No.” His grip on the other’s face turns firm, suddenly angry and indignant at the notion. “You’ll do no such thing, Schofield.”

“But,” Will tries but he shushes the other with a sneered hiss.

“No!” He barks, pushing against the other until he’s pressed him against the wall, one hand still firmly gripping his face. “No, you won’t kill Mackenzie. I don’t want you to kill anyone. I don’t want you to die. I want you to live your fucking life, Will. You’re not going to die now when you’ve made something for yourself and your family. You’re not going to die for me, you’re going to live for me and show me just how much you want to fucking do it! Am I making myself clear?” He shakes the other’s head a little in anger, glaring into the wide blue eyes.

Will nods, seemingly stunned, so Tom releases his face and places the hand against the brick wall instead.

“For you?” Will’s voice is meek and shaky but the words are clear and Tom realizes his mistake too late.

He closes his eyes and tips his head back towards the heavens briefly before regaining his bearings. “For me.” He nods. “For me, and Joe and your sisters and brother.”

“For yous.” Will’s eyes return to their normal size with a renewed clarity in them.

“For all of us.” He tries to rectify but Will is grinning now, sharp as knives, fangs and all.

“For you?” There’s a teasing lilt to his tone that makes Tom’s stomach churn again.

“Piss off,” He grumbles, trying to extract himself from the cradle of the other’s hands but Will’s grip just becomes firmer.

“For you.” Will concludes and really, they’re just repeating themselves now. But the remnants of Will’s intensity have disappeared to be replaced by sheer joy in the other’s face and Tom can’t really complain much.

“You’re insufferable.” He concludes, walking backwards and effectively walking Will back as well since the other seems intent on staying latched on. Tom should probably feel uncomfortable with that strong grip holding onto him so firmly. But the thing is – is that he _doesn’t._ The grip is familiar, making him warm and happy.

“You wouldn’t trade me,” Will, self-assured and smirking devilishly, pushes further until Tom was back against the table.

“I’d trade you for a kitten,” He hisses but not meanly – he’s more _flustered_ than anything.

“I’ll _get_ you a kitten. That way you get to have both.” Will reassures, bending down lightly.

Tom thinks, for the briefest of moments, about breaking the moment. About going back to the way things were. But when he thinks better, he realizes that this has been brewing for far longer than he’d like to admit. He decides that he doesn’t want to break the moment. That he wants to keep goading Will into making the first move, into doing the illicit and crossing the line.

“Oh, I _have_ you, now, do I?” He bats his eyelashes innocently, feeling the rumble of Will’s growl against his own chest with how close they’re standing.

“You do. You always will, you always have.” Will says with a lot more seriousness than Tom was going for and it pleases something deep inside him – something possessive and demanding. The grin that he feels curling on his own face is just as wild as anything Will’s ever given him.

“Sometimes I think you’re just as crazy as I am.” Will admits and closes the distance between their mouths.

The kiss is firm, demanding; the hands on his waist move up to cradle his head and Tom can only grip the other’s wrists as it grows deeper and sloppier. Tom moans, low in his throat and Will’s sharp teeth bite down onto his lip.

“Christ,” He breathes out once Will takes time to nuzzle under his jaw.

“ _He’s_ got nothing to do with this,” The other grunts and Tom laughs because it’s the only sane thing he can do, really.

“You’re ridiculous, too.” He pulls the other up so that he can look into those awe-filled eyes.

“Anything you want me to be,” Will hushes like the words are sacred and Tom can tell that he means them.

“Fuck, alright.” He collects his thoughts with a deep inhale. “Go to my room, I’ll be there quick.” Will whines, hugging him closer in protest but Tom pushes him back gently. “Come on, Scho, I have to lock the door.”

With what seems like great reluctance, Will relents and Tom watches him shuffle down to the second room which was designated as Tom’s. He breathes out a sigh, shuddering as the residual arousal makes his spine tingle. He straightens out his shirt and goes for the door. He locks the house up and draws the curtains on the available windows – it’d do them good to be careful. He goes back to the kitchen and after some consideration, fetches the imported bottle of olive oil he’d paid good money for.

 _Well, it’s for a good cause_ , he thought with an embarrassing sort of excitement.

When he enters his room, closes _that_ door and locks it, then turns around Will is – well. Will is there, sitting on the bed, mostly naked and poised like he’s expecting a fight but his eyes are wide and innocent and making Tommy’s heart ache.

“Oh, love.” He croons, drawing the only slightly see-through drapes closed. Behind their house is a cherry orchard where nobody but them should be but it’s better to be safe.

“Relax for me, yeah?” He walks closer; coming to a stop between the other’s spread knees.

“Tommy, I’ve never...” Will trails off, his hands coming up to grip the back of Tom’s thighs, fingers flexing.

“It’s alright, Scho, we’ll figure it out together.” He grins, running his free hand through Will’s short hair and scratching his nails against the other’s scalp lightly. “You trust me?”

“Course, with my life.” Will responds immediately and Tom bites at his bottom lip to stop the grin threatening to emerge.

“Good,” He hums, leaning down and kissing the other again. This time the kiss was slow. It was meant to relax the other and get him to loosen up. Will’s muscles were coiled and tense for a couple of minutes before Tom made the decision to move his hand down and clasp it over the back of the other’s neck. Will shudders at the grip and his body unwinds almost as if he were a kitten.

“There you go, Scho. There you are.” He hushes against the other’s cheek as Will begins breathing easier.

“Thought about this,” Will murmurs, taking him by surprise again. “Bout all of it. Knew I shouldn’t have but, _Tommy_.” The other whines again and Tom nudges closer, dropping the bottle of oil onto the bed and straddling the other’s thighs.

Will’s hands raise up to cup his behind as Tom takes his time pressing fingers into the curves of the other’s chest. They’re silent mostly because Will is waiting for Tom to formulate his response, he knows this. But he doesn’t know how to respond. Because of course he’s thought about it, too. It was impossible not to when Will folded under his direction so beautifully.

“’S alright, Will. Despite what I may think at times, you _are_ only human.” He grins and Will relaxes further, becoming more confident in an instant.

“You too, huh?” The other asks cheekily and Tom feels blood rushing to his cheeks – which is a miracle all things considered.

“What are you? Thick? Of course,” He gripes back, “Look at you, how could I not?”

“Shush,” Will grumbles, oddly shy but Tom can see that he’s pleased. And _oh_ , _that’s right._

“Oh, Will, darling. How could I not? How when you’re always so good for me? When you always try your best for me.” He coos, watching the praise wash over the other, making the taller shiver with it.

“Only wan’ta be good, Tommy. Make you happy.” Will whines, burying his nose into the crook of his neck and pulling Tom closer to him.

He resets his grip on the other’s neck and wiggles until he’s fully on the other’s lap, his knees now resting on the bed. Will’s hard, straining against the white undergarments. Tom’s not immune either, not by a long shot but he’s got his pants on even if he’s barefoot.

“Come on, then, take my shirt off.” He instructs and pulls back slightly, waiting for Will to register the instruction. When he does, the other starts at it meticulously with patience Tom doesn’t himself have. Once he’s about four buttons down, Tom just nudges the other’s hands away and pulls the shirt off in a swift motion.

“Too slow,” He grins and Will whines at him with a mighty pout. He kisses him, because he can now. He can kiss that unbecoming pout right off the other’s mouth and smile as he does it.

When the kiss gets out of control, becomes _heavier_ and _deeper_ , he realizes that it’s time to get naked otherwise they’ll just end up grinding against each other and finishing like that. His hips stutter as Will pulls him in by the arse and he groans as he separates from the other.

“Shite, wait, I gotta.” He waves vaguely down at himself and then stands up on shaky legs. He feels like his knees might buckle under him if he loses the grip he has on Will’s shoulder so he works his trousers off with one hand, taking the undergarments with them. And then He’s naked. And Will is looking at him like he’s ready to devour him.

“Love, take ‘em off.” He smiles as Will scrambles to follow, eyes still not entirely leaving Tom’s frame – almost as if he’s afraid that the moment he looks away, Tom will be gone. Well, the feeling is rather mutual.

They switch positions and Tom finds himself on his back with his pillow under his head and Will kneeling between his spread knees. This time, they’re fully in the nude and on the bed and Will’s breathing is heavier but he’s not poised for a fight anymore.

“Watch me first, yeah?” He bares his teeth in a grin that he hopes is reassuring as he waits for the other to nod. When he does, Tom takes his time pulling the cork out of the bottle with a resounding pop and coating his fingers in the oil. Christ, so impractical. But – there’s no way he’d be willing to try and take something of Will’s size on spit only.

It’s – it’s not really something he’s done before. Tom’s never believed in the whole _sodomy and sin_ part of it but he’d never been brave enough to try on his own even when he’d heard stories from his colleagues back in school. It’s uncomfortable but necessary so he’ll get through it gladly.

It does help that Will is staring at the two fingers he has in himself as if transfixed, barely blinking as Tom pushes his fingers in and out until he’s huffing a little in frustration because his hands are small and he can’t get in deep enough. He wiggles his hips, whining loudly.

“ _Will_ ,” He hisses and the other’s eyes snap up, his cheeks red and his gaze intent. “Will, come on, oil, fingers, can’t let me have all the f-fun.”

Will nods frantically, rushing and almost dropping the bottle before he gets a solid grip on it. Tom chuckles and watches as the flush spread down to the other’s wide chest and watches it colour the other’s ears. He tries not to think about the red that almost always colours the other’s knuckles or the pink head of the other’s prick. He swallows heavily, thinking that next time he might want to get a taste.

Will’s fingers are different than his own. For one, they’re _longer_. Tom’s breath hitches as the stretch intensifies. The other’s fingers are thicker, rougher and reaching places Tom could never. He feels the other fumble for a moment before Will steadies himself and his fumbling turns into sure strokes. Tom finds himself breathless entirely when Will’s long fingers bump against something in him that makes his entire body shudder with pleasure. He whines and looks down at Will, both of them sporting matching wide-eyed looks.

“Scho,” He chokes out and this time it’s Will who whines, shifting on his knees almost impatiently.

“Tom – _Tommy_ ,” Will groans, shuffling forward while still having two fingers inside him. “You look-”

“Beautiful?” He teases and then moans as Will’s lips latch onto his thigh, teething at the soft skin there. “Fuck!” His hips cant upwards, his hardness bobbing with the motion.

“Beautiful – still the prettiest damned sight I ever seen.” Will breathes out, eyes closed in bliss as his fingers start moving again steadily. “Never wan’ta stop lookin’ at you, darling. Never wan’ta stop touching you either.”

“Will, _Will._ ” He bears down onto the other’s fingers, getting them deeper in him and whining as Will continues mouthing at the bruise he’d left on his skin. The red mark blooms beautifully and Tom has the sudden need to see them all over himself. But – there’ll be time for that later.

“Will, another finger, come on.” He demands and Will tears himself away from the skin at his hip for long enough to pour some more oil into his hand before he’s back to biting and sucking and driving Tom mad with lust. He wants to touch himself, wants to wrap a hand around his hard length and stroke himself firmly, but he knows that if he does this will be over before he wants it to. So he grips the sheets on his bed and thinks about anything other than Will’s tantalising mouth so close to his cock.

Will adds the third finger and Tom grows impatient quickly. Sure, they ought to go slow and steady but any discomfort he might have felt at the beginning has long since passed. The only thing left behind is the heat in his belly and the twitching of his length every time Will’s fingers brush over that place again.

“Scho, fuck, get your cock in me.” He wiggles down onto the other’s fingers again and Will’s head snaps up to look at him. His mouth is red and slightly swollen, spit-slick and still so hungry. Tom gives in to the urge and pulls him up by his jaw. He kisses the other desperately, moaning and groaning and exploring his fill like a man starved. The other’s dry hand rests against Tom’s head and he sees the muscles tensing. He breaks away, tilting his head up as Will latches onto the skin of his throat, mouthing and nipping as he noses the offered meal.

“Tommy,” Will whispers. “I don’t wan’ta hurt you.”

“You won’t, I trust you. Come on, I’ll be nice and relaxed for you, promise. You’re not gonna hurt me, Scho.” He babbles, sweating and wanting to stop the build-up in his abdomen, the nasty little feeling of unbearable heat that’s swallowing him whole, setting the beastly need inside him loose.

“Fuck, alright.” Will pulls back enough that he can grip himself and oil up his length before pressing it against where his fingers had been just moments prior.

Tom forces himself to breathe steadily and tries not to tense up in anticipation as Will starts pushing in. It’s a slow process but he’s a patient man so he waits Will out and, really, it’s sweet that the other is taking his time and being careful. It’s endearing and charming but Tom doesn’t want to wait. He brings his legs up and brings Will in, pushing his prick further inside. He grunts and Will whines loudly at the clench of Tom around him. He hisses and grins as Will rises up to glare down at him.

“That wasn’t very nice,” The other breathes out and Tom bites at his lower lip in amusement.

“Trust me, love, you’ll be glad in a moment.” He promises, kissing the other’s pouting mouth sweetly. Will refuses to budge though, makes Tom wait and whine and wiggle for a couple of minutes of stony silence before Tom finally relents and relaxes into the bed. “Fine.” He slumps back onto the bed, very close to crossing his arms over his chest in protest.

“My pace?” Will asks and Tom nods. “Good,” The other presses a wet kiss against his forehead before gripping his hips and starting up a slow in-and-out motion.

“Christ, Will, you’ll be the death of me you slow sod!” He tries to move but Will’s hands on his hips have completely immobilised him so he can only wriggle in place again as Will thrusts steadily.

“Told you, don’t wanna hurt you, Tommy.” Will murmurs, moving his hands up to splay those big palms against his ribs.

He sighs a little mournfully, enjoying the touch. “You’re not goin’ta hurt me, Scho. Got me nice and slick, you can speed up. Feels – really fuckin’ good, you’re doing so well.” He knows praising Will is playing dirty but it’s all he has left now. “Don’t you want to do even better? Don’t you want to make me happy?”

“Oh, that’s low, Tommy, very low.” Will growls but his thrusts do speed up despite his words. Tom grins and lets himself enjoy the feeling, the sounds and the kisses that Will bites into his mouth.

It’s a race towards a mutually satisfactory finish from then. Will, much like in fighting, gives it his damned best. He’s a beast and Tom finds himself hanging on for dear life once the other’s thrusts really pick up. He’s grappling against the other’s sweat-slick back desperately, a stream of punched-out sounds leaving his mouth continuously as the frame of the bed rattles and Will growls into his neck.

The other shifts a little, climbing onto his knees fully and pulling Tom onto his lap. Tom’s body bends until only his upper back is on the bed and Will is pounding away like he’s being paid to do it. Tom’s so very close but his hands are uselessly gripping his pillow because he can hardly breathe let alone think to touch himself.

“Lovely, so fucking lovely.” Will, still pressing bruises with his fingers into his sides, grins sharply with his eyes half-mad for the first time in a while.

“ _Will,”_ And there’s nothing much to it. He doesn’t say anything after, just continues to moan and lose himself to the feeling and to the sound of his own pulse beating in his ears. Once he finally gets a hand around his own prick it’s over in two sharp strokes and Will’s thrusts stutter as Tom’s body winds tight with the orgasm.

The other pulls out and Tom protests even though it’s an entirely smart move. He watches, spent with his legs still spread and Will between them as he takes his cock in his hand and finishes himself off, spend joining the mess on Tom’s stomach.

He blinks lazily as Will’s shoulders and chest heave with deep breaths. He feels tingly and tired but also giddy and entirely too happy. Sure, tomorrow he’ll be sore and work will be hell but for now he’s sated and thrilled to have had Will like this. Another way to redirect the other’s focus.

“God, Will,” He smiles like a loon as the other’s breathing calms and he seems to come to his senses.

“Tommy,” Will smiles and it’s all sweet and adoring again.

“Should probably get a bath going, huh?” He thrusts his arms out, demanding and Will folds down on top of him in a firm hug, ignoring the mess cooling on Tom’s stomach.

“Later, I’m tired.” Will complains, moving to the side and collecting Tom’s form against his own. “Drained me proper, love.”

He chuckles, “You don’t have to sleep in front of my house, you know. Would have let you in if you’d’a asked.”

“Was too angry to face you.” Will grunts, hands roving over Tom’s back and pressing into the grooves of muscle there.

“What’d Mackenzie even say? I’d never seen you that mad with him.” He fears that asking will just anger the other but a bigger part of him wants to know and, well, he’s decently certain that Will’s too relaxed at the moment to get angry.

“It wasn’t really what he said yesterday but his whole way of conduct, yeah? Sick and tired of him thinking he can shit on everyone just because he’s the Captain’s lapdog.” Will sighs, the fingers digging in a little firmer but mostly seeking reassurance. “Called you a cunt, said you’ve taken to bending over for me and playin’ my wife. Said you’d try and have my babe if you could. That you’d replaced Arlene as the Captain’s whore. Tried to – tried to get me to sleep with one of the girls. Poor thing looked barely older than Danny is.”

“Christ, Will.” He grunts, feeling his own cheeks heat despite knowing that the words weren’t true. “Wait – you said you wanted some of the things he said to be true.”

“Oh,” Will’s body stiffens a little in alarm and Tom shushes him.

“It’s alright, I won’t be mad if you tell me.” He kisses the hollow of the other’s throat, a place he’d come to associate with the knife usually in his boot.

He feels Will bury his nose into his hair and he can hear the wild beating of his heart calm minutely. “Wanted to – well, this, of course. But – he wasn’t entirely wrong. You’d helped me an’ Elsie so much over these short few years that – you’d practically become a parent to the youngins. And I really like that.”

The warmth Tom feels at the acknowledgement of his meddling, his efforts and his attachment to the Schofield’s spreads through his chest slowly, making his cheeks heat as well. “Thought myself more of a brother, to be honest.”

“Well, guess we shouldn’t have done this then, mate.”

“Ugh,” He grimaces and Will laughs, easy and cheerful and Tom feels it wash over him like warm water.

“It doesn’t matter,” Will decides, “What Mackenzie said. Sooner or later, that kind of talk will get him cut.”

“Yes, but you won’t be the one to do it.” He challenges.

“No, I won’t.” Will confirms. “Because I want to keep you, and sacrifices have to be made for the ones we love.”

“Repercussions and consequences.” He hums, pleased beyond words to have the other here in his bed, getting sleepy and comfortable with him.

“Tired?” Will asks but Tom’s already fading away.

“Stay here.”

“I will, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed and as always you can find me on twitter and on tumblr @marionettefthjm


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